The cliffs are the property of the Danish Crown and are rented annually in sections at a price ranging from sixty to seventy-five dollars. The laws governing bird catching are well defined and strict. The season and method of capture of each species is explicitly stated. A gun can never be used under any circumstances. No act can be committed which would in the least disturb the birds. The eider duck can never be killed except by a man who can prove that he was actually starving with no other means of procuring food. But above all the laws and rendering laws unnecessary is a sound public opinion.

All the birds are very tame. Tens of thousands of puffins sit upright along the tops of the crags, many of them still holding rows of little fishes in their great beaks. The catchers station themselves at definite intervals along the cliffs and catch them in a net as they fly past. Their necks are broken with a sudden twist as the net is unloaded and the birds left in piles along the ground or thrown to the bottom of the cliff to be gathered by the boys and women who pluck them. The breast is used for food. The remainder of the birds are strung on long lines and hung upon the fences or festooned from the gables of the houses to dry and to furnish fuel. A single puffin is worth when first captured about a cent and a half. The down is sold at the trader’s store for thirteen cents per pound. About 40,000 puffins are taken on these cliffs each season.

The fulmar is nearly as important as the puffin. About 30,000 are captured during the open season. The fulmar, “foul-gull,” is appropriately named. When captured or disturbed it spits a large quantity of oily fluid, rank with the odor of putrid fish. These birds are taken by the simple act of knocking them over with a club. Several men usually work in unison. One man has a long rope fastened to his waist and then twisted around each thigh. Suspended in the air, or with his feet against the face of the cliff he ascends or descends the sides of the rock, kicking himself outward. The rope is managed by three or four men at the top of the cliff and sometimes secured by an iron ring fastened in the rock.

The fulmars are plucked, the heads and wings cut off, the body split open, the interior fat cleaned out, and then the birds are either smoked or packed in salt for winter use. The fat is boiled down to a thick oil, spiced and used as a substitute for butter. Ten fulmars will yield a liter of oil. The oil is used in the native lamps. The entrails, heads, wings and legs are dried and used for fuel. It is so difficult to free the feathers from the oil that they are of little value. When thoroughly cleaned they are worth only twelve cents per pound. The birds themselves when cured are worth four cents each.

Nearly a thousand gannets, Solon Goose, are taken in these islands each year. Why it is called the “Solon” is not known. It is possible that it really possesses wisdom in excess of other geese. Scientifically it is not a real goose. A great many kittiwakes and guillemots are captured though the total value is much less than the above mentioned birds.

The young men of Heimaey capture the stormy petrels alive for the purpose of playing jokes with them. The birds give a sound similar to the purring of a cat. Several of them are let loose in the night in the house of the person on whom the joke is to be played. The birds dart about the house in a lively manner and give their cry of alarm which is weird and uncanny. It produces the desired effect upon the sleeper as he awakens.

We steamed away from Heimaey, passed between Fuglasker and Reykjaness where steam was rising from numerous hot springs and at seven in the morning, having crossed Faxafjörðr, dropped anchor in the stream before the still slumbering city of Reykjavik.

CHAPTER VI
REYKJAVIK

After searching three years, Ingölfr found the storm-driven pillars cast ashore in a steaming creek. He called the place Reykjavik, the Smoking Creek.

Hardly was the anchor down in the midstream before a rosy cheeked and genial gentleman came on board and introduced himself as Helgi Zoëga. He was the man with whom I had corresponded relative to arranging our trip, providing ponies, a guide and a pack train. To his quiet forethought and courteousness in after days I had much for which to be thankful. We were absolute strangers to land and people. He took us ashore in his boat and conducted us to Hotel Island where we found a comfortable, large and well furnished room. Shortly our baggage appeared by the same quiet agency. I then went to his office and spent some time in going over the plan of the route to be followed, the ponies, their equipment and the provisions to be taken.

I had been judiciously forwarned by the books of several English travellers about the snares into which the uninitiated would fall in dealing with an Icelandic guide so I was forearmed. I recall the quiet smile that scarcely spread from Zoëga’s lips when I asked about the extra straps, the extra shoes for the ponies and the price that was to be paid at the end of the journey, the reliability of the guide and if the agreement had not better be placed in writing to avoid misunderstanding at time of settlement. He replied that all was in readiness according to my wishes and his experience and assured me of a satisfactory ending of the journey. Let me state that in my long experience with Mr. Zoëga and many other Icelandic gentlemen, I was always squarely treated in small as well as in larger matters. Never has an Icelander attempted to take advantage of my ignorance. As far as my experience of four summers in Iceland goes the English statements are libels on Icelandic integrity. Could we do business in America with the same frankness and reliability we would need less bookkeeping, there would be less locking of doors and less work for the courts; we might close many of our jails and divert a whole army of people from corrective and restraining work into productive occupations.

The route decided upon, the arrangements completed to our satisfaction, Mrs. Russell and I set out to view the city of Reykjavik and receive our first impressions of Iceland. We turned our steps in the direction of the Laug, hot spring, which is about two miles from the city square. The route is along the Laugarvegur, a street with many houses of comfortable design and good construction. The hot springs are on a small stream running out of the meadow into the bay. Along the route we saw many women with bundles on their backs, boys with wheelbarrows filled with clothes and others carrying large wicker baskets. It is the “city laundry.” A long iron grill has been erected over the run-way from the boiling springs to prevent accidents. The clothes are washed in the running water and hung up to dry on numerous lines strung in the meadow. Commodious sheds have been erected for protection during rain and for ironing and repairing garments. Great piles of wool were scattered over the hillside to dry after being washed in the springs. Throughout the country the hot springs are made use of for woolwashing. The water seems to have special properties for removing the animal grease.

When we had returned from our long trip across the country in 1910 we sent a generous supply of soiled, torn and buttonless clothes to this out-of-door laundry. What was our amazement to find on its return to the hotel that the buttons had been replaced and all the rents neatly repaired. What a contrast to an American laundry!

The flow of the boiling water is quite constant throughout the year and the temperature is constant. My thermometer registered 95°C in the runway. Considerable steam rises from the water and when the air is still it is most difficult to obtain an unclouded photograph. The water is impregnated with hydrogen sulfid and a little carbon dioxid. This is true of most of the hot springs in the country.

On our return to the city we passed near the Leper Hospital, an excellent modern structure located near the sea. None but physicians are allowed admission to visit. While the Teutonic races are quite free from this ancient disease, nevertheless it does exist in Norway, around the shores of the Baltic, in Iceland, Scotland and in those portions of the United States settled by Scandinavians. It seems to effect islands and sea-coasts and because of this it is often stated that the disease in Iceland has been perpetuated by eating tainted fish in times of famine. Credit is due the physicians of Iceland in not only controlling the plague but in actually obtaining a steady decrease. This disease goes hand in hand with tuberculosis, that is, lepers are usually tubercular. Until recently tuberculosis was prevalent in Iceland owing to the damp and unventilated houses especially on the farms. Thanks to the energetic crusade of the Icelandic doctors the conditions are rapidly improving and both leprosy and tuberculosis are decreasing. The Surgeon-General, Guðmundur Björnsson, told me with considerable pride that the percentage of tuberculosis in Iceland was now less than in Europe or the United States.

Reykjavik is pleasantly situated on the north side of a headland projecting into Faxafjörðr. There are two high hills in the city up which the city is slowly creeping. The ancient portion of the city is on the level ground along the waterfront. It is not the untidy and ill-smelling place that many English writers would have us believe. On the contrary it is clean, the streets are wide and well kept, running water has been brought from a distance of eight miles to the capital. The fish curing is confined to the shore as it is in all the coast towns and it is not offensive. Indeed I might cite worse conditions in the fishing centers of Old England and New England. Many a street in Edinburgh, London, Boston and New York is in worse sanitary condition than the meanest streets of Reykjavik. The stores are numerous and well stocked with European and American wares. Two of the emporiums rise to the dignity of apartment stores, where the necessities of life as well as many of its luxuries may be obtained. The small shops are numerous where specialties are carried such as shoestores, tobacconists, dairy products and stationery shops. Telegraph and telephone connect the capital with all the towns and many of the isolated farms. The submarine cable which lands at Seyðisfjörðr connects the island with the world beyond. A modern gas plant supplies illumination for the city and a convenient fuel.

The population is a little less than 12,000 and has rapidly increased during the past fifty-eight years under the influence of the new life that has come to Iceland since in 1854 the people obtained commercial liberty. In 1874 Iceland got its constitution which was amended in 1903 to the effect that the Governor must be an Icelander and reside in Reykjavik. To all intents Iceland is an independent, self-governing republic with a liberal constitution. The following is a brief outline of the government.

It has a constitution. It is governed by the Althing, a legislative body composed of a Senate with fourteen members and a House of Representatives of twenty-six members. These forty members are chosen by popular ballot and when they assemble they choose the fourteen senators from their own number. Until 1911 six of the senators were appointed by the King of Denmark under the direction of the Icelandic Governor. This virtually gave the Governor the control of the Senate. This is now abolished. This same constitutional amendment completely enfranchises the women.

The Supreme Court is located in Reykjavik and consists of two judges and a Chief Justice. Their decision may be appealed to the Supreme Court of Denmark. The King of Denmark has a veto over the acts of the Icelandic Parliament but so far it has never been exercised. With this exception and the lack of the power to make treaties, the country is virtually an independent republic under a fair and liberal constitution. Some of the progressives desire a step further and would entirely sever themselves from Denmark. Owing to their defenseless condition and the inroads of the French and English upon the fishing grounds it will be wise to keep the protection of Denmark for some years.

There are several excellent buildings in the capital. The more modern ones such as the Thinghüs, Government Building, the Safnahüs, Library, are pleasing in architecture and solid in construction. The Thinghüs is situated on one side of the public square close to the Cathedral. Its interior is well arranged for legislative purposes and the decorations are simple, dignified and relieved with slight ornamentation. It contains many good paintings by Danish masters. There is a young school of Icelandic painting and some of the works are in this building. If Baedeker were writing a guide to Reykjavik he would double star “The Lögberg,” a view towards Hengil. There are several portraits of the Danish Kings and an excellent one of Jon Sigurðsson, the man who holds the same place in the hearts of the Icelanders that George Washington holds in ours and for the same reason. He is the Father of modern Iceland but he won the constitution without bloodshed. There is a painting by Otto Bache, “The Killing of Thoranin by Skarpðin.” Special notice should be taken of “The Ride of the Valkyrie” by P. Arbo. It is a wonderful conception and is full of action. Here also is a grand piece of wood carving made entirely with a jackknife by an Icelandic farmer as a memorial to Jon Sigurðsson. It is in the form of a frame to a pier glass and a pier stand. It is equal in design and execution to that famous carved pulpit in St. Gudule at Brussels, which was made by Verbruggen in 1669. There is an excellent bronze of Jonas Hallgrimsson who died in 1845. On leaving the Thinghüs the custodian gave us a friendly smile and a cordial handshake. This treatment is refreshing after the customary request for the shilling, the mark or the franc as is the common experience elsewhere.

The Government House which contains the executive offices is older and much more simple in design. There are two banks in the city and one of them is housed in its own building, which was the finest in Iceland until the completion of the Safnahüs.

This building houses over 80,000 bound volumes besides 6,000 manuscripts, many of them priceless. For a city of less than 12,000 people this is a good sized library. A thorough examination of the bookshelves and the lists of the book charges yields abundant evidence of the inborn aptness of this people for education. Mind culture reaches a high level. It is pleasing to an American to note Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary in a prominent position and a well used set of the works of the Sage of Concord, Ralph Waldo Emerson. The library contains a well balanced collection of history, literature, science, philosophy, poetry and economics, not only in the native language but in all the spoken tongues of Europe. For the benefit of those who do not read English there are translations of our masterpieces of drama, poetry and romance. I was pleased to note the evidence of much use of the American classics and almost the entire absence of that great class of light reading which lumbers our bookstalls, follows us on the train and burdens the card catalogs of the American libraries.

The basement shelters the collections of natural history and that portion devoted to Icelandic birds is practically complete. The botanical collection is far from complete and awaits the labor of some enthusiastic collector. I have seen in an isolated home far from the influence of the University a collection made by a boy that surpasses this one in the National Library. The collection of the minerals and lavas of the country forms a good nucleus and that is all. It seems strange with all the opportunities for work that some Icelandic geologist does not complete the work so well begun by Thorvaldur Thoroddsen. This man has produced an excellent geological map, as nearly complete as one man could possibly make it, considering the difficulties of travel and the miscellaneous character of the lavas. Most of the work on this topic has been done by Danes and Germans.

On the upper floor of the Safnahús there is a large and valuable collection of Icelandic antiquities. No visitor to Iceland, who would get a glimpse of the early times in the country, should miss this collection. When he has seen it, it will then be necessary to go to Copenhagen to view the remainder. Many of the finest things were taken there decades since. As a salve to its conscience the Danish treasury pays annually to Iceland the sum of $15,600 as “interest” on the borrowed treasures. Among the items of value we enumerate the following,—A wooden crucifix taken from a lava cave and supposed to be a Culdee relic from the days antedating the settlement by the Norse; enamelled and jewelled crucifixes from the thirteenth century; many weapons from the eleventh and twelfth centuries such as halberds, bills, two handed swords, spears and daggers; female wearing apparel from many centuries, brocaded, embroidered and variously adorned with filigree work in silver and gold; snuff horns of ivory and “horns” for mead and ale variously and richly carved; tapestry, very old, that would bring a fabulous price in the great museums of Europe; riding costumes, bridles, saddles and a great variety of wooden boxes, bowls and foot boards ornately carved. Here also is preserved the first Bible printed in Iceland bearing the date of 1584. It was printed at Hólar by Bishop Gudbrand Thorlaksson who translated it from the German of Martin Luther and carved with his own hand most of the blocks that illustrate it. This Bible was reprinted at Hólar in 1644 and the edition was limited to 1000 copies. The writer counts himself fortunate to possess a copy of this ancient book, which was presented to him by an Icelandic friend. It is the work of Bishop Thorlak and is translated directly from the Greek and Latin to correct some errors in Thorlaksson’s translation from the German. It is the first Bible to have the text divided into verses.

The religion of Iceland is Lutheran and is connected with the state. There are three Bishops in the country, the head Bishop is at Reykjavik and this man must go to Copenhagen to be ordained. The Bishop of Reykjavik goes to Hólar or to Skálholt, dwelling-ridge, in the seats of the secondary Bishops to ordain them respectively. At the age of fourteen the children are confirmed and at that time must possess a good knowledge of reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, natural history in general, Icelandic history in detail and general history both ancient and modern. The Cathedral at Reykjavik is a very plain and uninteresting building and would disappoint the stranger did he not know that the Icelander is unpretentious in his religion. It is the internal and not the external qualities that appeal to him. The building contains one of Thorvaldsen’s masterpieces, a font which was presented to the nation by this famous son of Iceland. In the square which is close to the Cathedral and the Thinghüs there is a large statue of Albert Thorvaldsen. It is appropriately mounted on a stone pedestal and was the gift of the people of Copenhagen at the national celebration of 1874.

Denmark claims Thorvaldsen as her son. The facts are as follows, and the reader may choose for himself the country to which he really belongs. His father was an Icelander, a wood carver, his mother was a Dane, the daughter of a parson. Albert Thorvaldsen was born at sea midway between Denmark and Iceland. Porcelain copies of his Dawn and Evening, bas reliefs, are set into many tombstones in Reykjavik. The dead white of the porcelain is in fine contrast to the cold grey of the stone. This method of ornamenting a tombstone is unique and is not without a fine touch of sentiment.

The University includes the Medical College, the Theological Seminary, the Law School besides the Liberal Arts. Medical graduates, before taking up their labors in Iceland must spend at least six months in clinical work in some approved hospital in Copenhagen. The reason is obvious. There are fifty doctors in the employment of the government and scattered throughout the country. They are all directly in charge of the Surgeon General. There is little done in science at the University. Students who wish to become proficient in any of its numerous branches must go to the Universities of Europe. Within the city there are also a Commercial School, a Nautical School and a Female High School besides the Grammar School and the common schools.

There are about fifteen newspapers published in the city and several magazines. Most of the papers are weeklies. Among these periodicals we note a Theological Journal, an Agricultural Paper, a Good Templar Journal, the “War Cry” and a Woman Suffragist Journal. No mention is here made of the essays, romances, Sagas, translations and poetry published in the city. In the bookbinding establishments the work is done by hand and it is efficient. Honest work goes with every stitch.

There are two comfortable hotels in the city and several small boarding houses. Hotel Ísland is a temperance house and is kept by a group of Good Templars. Hotel Reykjavik, which is more modern, supplies liquors. In 1909 a law was passed which forbids the importation of any liquors after 1912 and prohibits the sale of all alcoholic beverages after 1915. This is the work of the Good Templars and the anti-prohibitionists are trying to get it repealed before 1915. The service at the hotels is excellent and one dines to the accompaniment of the minor music of Iceland by an orchestra. The table surely does not lack variety and abundance is the rule. The bill of fare is after the Danish mode. One may choose from at least a dozen different dishes of meats and cured fish at breakfast and supper. Smoked salmon, eaten without further cooking, pickled fish with raw onion, anchovies, sardines, smoked herring, the breast of goose smoked and pressed with spices, duck eggs in a variety of modes, rye bread and coffee, the finest brew in the world, are among the appetizers with which one breaks his fast at ten in the morning. About two in the afternoon there is a real dinner. It is prefaced with a sweet soup of a purple hue and surprisingly palatable, then comes fish cooked to perfection, vegetables and a roast, usually mutton or veal, and a delicious dessert. The coffee is taken in the reception room or in the smoking parlor as one chooses. Oatmeal may be procured at the hotels by asking before hand to have “porridge” cooked. In all my wanderings through the country I never found it except at one farm. The supper at seven is a repetition of the breakfast. Coffee and cakes may be had at any time at a moment’s notice. Coffee is also brought to the room about seven in the morning. This with rusks is taken in bed and one is supposed to take the “coffee nap” afterwards.

Reykjavik is the commercial metropolis and the larger industries center here, although Akureyri is the clearing house for the north coast. These are the centers for exporting the fish, mutton, butter, wool, skins, etc. Nearly all the handicrafts are represented in the capital. There is a woolen mill where vaðmal, an Icelandic cloth, is woven, a sawmill dresses the crude lumber brought from Norway. There are several silversmiths who equal the artists of Europe in delicate engraving and in filigree as well as enamelling. One man has discovered a process, which he wisely keeps secret, for coloring the precious metals.

The foreign Consuls resident in Reykjavik are only two, one from France and the other from Norway. The following countries are represented through Icelanders who are appointed by the foreign governments, England, Germany, Sweden, Belgium and Holland. The United States has no representation whatever.

The Thorvaldsen Bazar is an attractive place, verging upon a museum of antiquities. It is coöperative and the proceeds go to a charity. It is conducted by groups of ladies who give their time. Many women on the farms knit stockings, mittens, gloves, make skin shoes, embroidery in linen and send the items to the bazar to be sold on commission. There are also exposed for sale stuffed birds, minerals, odd items such as footboards, horn spoons, snuff horns, skyr bowls and a great variety of other items that have long been hoarded by families in the interior. Some of the carved pieces of wood are of great age and the carving is artistically done. The foot board is of interest and as reference to it will be made later in connection with the homes of the people I will describe the one which now adorns my guest room wall. It is made of Norway spruce, four feet long and seven inches wide. It is ornately carved on both sides. On one side there are three circles five and one half inches in diameter, one at each end and one in the middle. The circles are cut to represent Balder’s brá, marguerite, which blooms abundantly throughout the country near the coast. The central circle shows only the ends of the numerous petals while the center of the circle is used for engraving the name and the date, 1868. Between the two circles at either side of the center a prayer is carved in the Ogam rune. On the reverse side there is a series of six prows of the Viking ship. The design of the prow of the ancient ship lends itself well to the wood carver and it appears in a variety of forms on the ancient as well as the modern pieces. There is an expert wood carver in Reykjavik and it is well worth while to visit Stefán Eiriksson in his workshop. I have before me a skyr áskr, bowl for curds. In old times each person had his own áskr which he carved to suit his fancy. This one is completely covered with fine carving. The handles represent dragons and to the back of one with a wooden hinge is attached the cover. The center of the cover is carved to represent Balder’s brá. It is a beautiful piece of work and is carved out of a solid piece of the Iceland birch.

There are several good photographers in the city and one of them, M. Ólafsson, has made excellent stereoscopic views of the natural wonders of Iceland. He has travelled over most of the country to obtain the negatives and he made his own stereoscopic camera as well as the different cameras in his studio. There are several shops where good photographs may be obtained. The city has an excellent public bath with steam, shower, hot and cold water. There are two hospitals, Chemist’s shops, (drug stores), barbers, in fact every thing required in civilized life.

We know so little of Iceland. Its very name suggests all the cold and inhospitable conditions of the north and the stranger unread in Icelandic conditions has many a surprise in store. The worst thing I know about Iceland is its name. It should have been christened Fireland.

The climate of Iceland is exceedingly mild in winter and in the summer it never gets very warm. The annual mean temperature of the extreme north is about 2°C. lower than in the south. The climate changes very little with the latitude but more with the glaciers, the coast and the solfataras. The following table, compiled from the Meteorological Records at Berufjörðr, will convey a good idea of the conditions in the country. This table covers twenty-five years for the Max. and Min. temperatures. The station is in Long. 14° 15´ W., Lat. 64° 40´ N. and it is 55 feet above the sea. The temperatures are given in degrees Centigrade.

When we recall that zero on the Centigrade thermometer is the freezing point these figures will correct our erroneous ideas of the extreme low temperatures which we have ever associated with Iceland. The lowest temperature in twenty-five years at this station was only nine and one half degrees below zero on the Fahrenheit scale. During the summer of 1910 I travelled in the north and crossed the country in the vicinity of the western glaciers and the lowest temperature recorded during six weeks was 32°F. in a mountain pass in the north and the highest was 56°F. the mean for the entire time was 44°F. All these temperatures were taken in the shade at 7 A. M., Noon and 9 P. M.

At the summer solstice the midnight sun is just visible in the south and at longer periods in the north on the table lands. Even after the sun has set, it is as light as day and one can read at midnight in the houses during several weeks.

In a country so diversified with sea, glaciers, naked volcanoes, uplands and rivers the sunsets are glorious. Many nights have I climbed the hill back of the city at eleven to watch the sunset and to be present at the ushering in of the dawn. Below me lay the dreaming city with here and there a strolling couple by the waterside. South and east the scattered peaks of the Fire Peninsula, though twenty miles distant they seemed in the clear atmosphere to be near at hand and the purple perfect cone of Keilir, Tusk, stood apart, a guardian of the fire group beyond. Behind me stretched the long and precipitous table land of Esja, its slopes scarred and ragged and the patches of pale green sphagnum marking the location of the water pockets in the debris. It was crowned with a heavy cap of ice and the fluttering folds of fog hung over it like the bridal veil of an Icelandic maid. To the west and north is spread the broad and glimmering bay of Faxa while sixty miles beyond, though appearing less than half that distance, Snaefells Jökull at the head of its regiment of volcanic cones towers from the sea.

It is midnight, local time. The sun has been in his ocean bath for thirty minutes and in an equal length of time he will emerge near by the locality of his plunge. It is an entrancing scene and recalls the Twilight of the Gods. The heavens are overcast with a rose-flesh hue of varying tones. No stars dot the bending dome, no moon skirts the far horizon. The Faxa is like a molten sea of precious metal and across it roll billows of purple light which striking the base of Keilir, surge to its pointed summit in waves of lighter hue to break in confusion on the distant volcanoes. Esja catches the color of the sky, its dripping parapet glistens as at noon and its ice mantle is transformed into rosy quartz. The crowning glory of the moment is Snaefells. Behind it is the sun. A broad streamer rises vertically to the zenith from behind the mountain. It splits the warmer shades with a band of saffron. It spreads outward like an opening fan. Snaefells is the jewel in the end of the fan handle. The fan unfolds until a full quadrant of the heavens have turned to gold with radiating streaks of crimson. The ice-cap has become a ruby and Esja a fiery opal. Kaleidoscopic is the change. Like the Borealis the colors come and go, the mists open and close and the tints deepen. Esja lives doubly in the bosom of the fiord within whose shadow the fishing fleet rock gently at their moorings. Even the ribbons of mist are imaged in the sea and in those vast depths drift softly like the real ones of the upper air. The cone of Keilir brightens, the slumbering tints burst into fire, the fire resolves itself into white light. The sun has risen from its midnight bath, morning has come and I seek the hotel conscious that neither pen nor brush can catch the true values of this great harmony of colors, that it is impossible to set it to meter or spread it upon the canvas. But it lives indelibly in the soul of the poet, the painter and the musician. Yes it is music, a great symphony,—

CHAPTER VII
THINGVELLIR

We had expected to start on our tour through the south of Iceland at eight in the morning. It was ten when we left the enclosure where the ponies were saddled and the pack horses laden. There were eight ponies in the troup, two pack ponies, two riding ponies for each of us and two for the guide. If the riding is easy the ridden ponies are changed midway of the days ride. If the road is difficult the ponies are changed twice. Our guide was Johannes Zoëga, the uncle of Helgi. He was nearly seventy years of age and as spry as a youth of twenty. Since he was fifteen he had followed the trails and he knew every path we crossed. Never was he in doubt in the network of trails on the moors or in the valleys but rode rapidly ahead at the crossings and turned the leading pony into the right path. Johannes was fully six feet tall and his favorite pony was the smallest in the string. On rough ground or in the deep ruts, it was amusing to watch his attempts to keep his feet off the ground. He spoke English quite well and understood it better than he spoke it. He was a thorough gentleman, waited upon us unceasingly and made our trip most enjoyable.

When I saw the ponies which were to carry us over so many miles of rough country, up the lower slopes of lava-blistered Hekla and across the bridgeless rivers, I thought that the diminutive beasts would not be able to do the work. I felt ashamed to ask the little fellows to carry my hundred and eighty pounds. I mentioned the matter to Mr. Zoëga. He smiled and said they would do the work required of them in an entirely satisfactory manner. They did. It was our first experience in the saddle, nor had I been on a horse since, as a small boy, I was accustomed to ride bare-back to a mountain pasture in New Hampshire to salt and count the sheep. It proved to be just as well, for no matter what may be one’s horsemanship in other lands and on other steeds, with the Icelandic hestr conditions are different and one must first put aside his acquired ideas of horsemanship and be governed by new conditions and experiences.

Johannes tied the five loose ponies together with a string that seemed ludicrously inadequate. It is customary in passing through a village to tie a small cord around the under jaw of a pony and fasten the other end of this cord to a knot in the tail of the next pony. We started into the main street and turned towards Thingvellir, Valley-of-the-Parliament, with Johannes in the lead with the five ponies. He soon had them all in a trot but do our best our ponies would only walk and then on the side of the street that seemed to please them best. It was an uncomfortable experience, this first exhibition of horsemanship on the main thoroughfare in the busiest portion of the day with the people leaving their work or running to the doorways to watch the Americans. Possibly it was our strange costumes, made for the occasion, which attracted their attention as these never failed to do in the interior. We were pleased to think of it this way. After half a mile of this aimless walking we caught up with the guide who was waiting, as he said,—

“It is not good for guide to let party get out of sight.”

He straightened out his tangled string of ponies and with a sharp “hót—hót” was away at a smart pace. Hót—hót, hót—hót! I shouted, in this my first Icelandic, and I said it so vigorously and with so many different accents that I must have got it right once, for away we went in good fashion and held our own at the heels of the train till we reached the Elliðaár, Ship-River. This is three miles out of the city and a famous salmon river the rights to which are annually purchased by a group of English sportsmen.

We stopped to rest the ponies. This is frequently necessary, especially when first starting on a long trip and always in the morning. Better accustomed to the saddle we rode on with much enjoyment of the novelty and with exhilaration, little thinking what those saddles had in store for us before that day’s ride came to a close. Somewhere along this portion of the route I lost my riding belt. Deciding to do without it I refrained from returning in search. Three weeks later this belt was handed to us one evening, it having been sent on from farm to farm. Twelve miles out from Reykjavik we came to the last inhabited dwelling we were to see before night. It is at the branching of the post road from the Thingvellir road. It is a place for light refreshments, much resorted to on Sundays and holidays by the young people out riding. The ponies were turned into the little compound provided for that purpose and we entered and partook of milk, excellent coffee and cakes. Over a year later, on our way down from the north coast, we called at this same place and this time we rode into the yard in true Icelandic style. No matter how careful the Icelander is of his pony, and he favors him all he can, it is a matter of pride to enter a village or ride up to a lonely farm at a keen gallop. As my last guide, Ólafur said,—“With reins tight and head up.” To tighten the reins on an Icelandic pony is to put him into a gallop.

We were now ascending the divide. Every kilometer, (the frequently travelled routes have a stone marker placed every five kilometers), brought us to higher ground, with an ever increasing view. Looking backward, as the ponies climbed the steep gradient, we caught many glimpses of the smiling Faxafjörðr. The ice crown of Snaefells Jökull loomed larger though we were going from it. Several small lakes, of glacier origin, nestle in the vales to the north marked with a ring of verdant grass about them. The country through which we are passing is mostly devoid of grass and it is difficult to find sufficient feed for the ponies and we regulate our stops accordingly. This is a desolate, dreary country, piled with blocks of frost-riven lava which time has graciously covered with a mantle of lichens. The whimbrels made their appearance and stayed with us throughout the summer whenever we rode the heather. They are noisy birds, swooping overhead uttering their prolonged calls, or running along the trail ahead of the ponies and then perching upon a lichen-encrusted rock to be lost to view except to the close observer. Their colors blend perfectly with their surroundings. Of all the curios which we brought back from Iceland nothing reminds us more of our journeys than the long-billed whimbrel which is perched above our bookcases.

The snow-capped peaks of Esja stand out in bold relief, directly in front rises the dome of Skálafell, Hall-Mountain, to the right in the distance, we catch glimpses of the mountain summits at the southern end of Thingvallavatn, Lake-in-the-Valley-of-the-Parliament, which loom higher and higher as we climb the ridge. While in the midst of our contemplation of the scenery, the packs on one of the ponies loosened, the swinging boxes startled him into a frightened gallop which he maintained across the heath till he had freed himself of all the burden. After some time the debris was collected and there being a patch of good grass here, we stopped to rest the ponies, repair the damage and take our first lunch in the open. Saddles and bridles were thrown off, the cases opened and we sat down to a canned lunch with hunger for the sauce. The opened lid of the packing box makes an excellent table.

“Is this not glorious?” questioned Mrs. Russell.

“Yes,” I replied as I shied my first sardine tin at a whimbrel. “This is living, true enjoyment. Rain or shine, we are out for one long holiday and it will be a glorious one.”

It was a picture that I should have photographed, that first lunch upon the mountain slope,—the ponies feeding around us untethered, the whimbrels circling closely above our heads, the plover calling from the heather, mountains upon mountains all around, blue with the distance or white with their perpetual snow mantles, the fleecy clouds drifting softly across the blue sky,—and then those things the camera can not catch,—the comfort of the sprawl upon the blooming heather, the respite from the galling saddles, the chocolate for those who do not enjoy the pipe and the pipe for those who do. We began to get acquainted with Johannes. As he filled his pipe with real American tobacco he told us of the many parties he had guided, how the English differed from the Danes, and the Germans from either of them in their likes and dislikes of the country, which required the most waiting upon and those who seemed the most grateful for the attentions he paid.

“Did you ever act as guide for Americans before?” I asked.

“Before? Are you from America, the United States?”

We assured him that we had that pleasure, whereupon Johannes continued,

“Do you know Mr. — and Mr. —? No? Well, they were likely lads and lively and we had a grand time upon our trip. See this whip?”

Whereupon he displayed the peculiar riding whip of Iceland. It consists of a stock about fourteen inches long heavily mounted with silver ferules and with a large silver knob oval in shape at the end. To the end of this stock is attached a strap of good leather three feet long. It is not so much used to whip the pony one is riding as to snap at the ponies that are tempted from their straight and narrow way by a choice bit of grass.

“When those boys got back to Reykjavik they presented me with this fine whip and I have carried it ever since.”

Two years later I was lecturing in New York City and chanced that night to show on the screen a slide in which Johannes figured. He loomed up splendidly from his tiny steed and presented a fine appearance with his flowing beard and slouched hat tipped to one side and with the beloved riding whip displayed in characteristic fashion. At the close of the lecture a gentleman approached me and asked,

“Did you have Johannes Zoëga for your guide? I thought I recognized him in one of the pictures.”

“Yes,” I replied, “he was our guide during our first trip in the country.”

“He was my guide and I presented him with that whip.”

The world is not so large after all.

Johannes then turned to Mrs. Russell and asked,

“What shall I call you? Your man’s name is Russell shall I call you ‘madam’ or what?”

She replied, “You may call me ‘madam’ or ‘Mrs. Russell,’ whichever you choose.”

“What,” replied Johannes, “your name Russell and your Man’s name the same? Two people, man and wife, and same name?”

We then informed him that in the United States when a woman married she dropped her maiden name, or substituted it for her middle name and assumed the surname of her husband. This was difficult for Johannes to understand, inasmuch as in Iceland a woman always keeps her maiden name, even after marriage. A woman is named thus, Sigurður Eiricksdóttir, or, Johanna Stefánsdóttir, and she is always called the “daughter of her father.” Likewise a man is the “son of his father” and is named accordingly. Thus, Stefán Kristófersson, or, Björn Eyvindsson, Björn the son of Eyvind. Now when this “son” comes to have a son and wishes to name him he may choose any Christian name he pleases but he must be “his son.” Thus if Björn Eyvindsson were to name his son he might call him Geir, Helgi, Ólafur, etc., but the patronymic would be dropped and he would be called Björnsson. Ólafur Björnsson would be the son of Björn Eyvindsson.

When we were through with our discussion of nomenclature it would have been difficult to have told which party was the more mystified.

The pack saddles were replaced, the fresh ponies saddled and we started upon the second stage of the day’s journey. Soon we mounted to the top of the ridge which is 1,100 feet above the sea. Near the sixth kilometer stone, about eighteen miles, we came to the Saeluhús, fortunate-house, an unoccupied hospice in the deserts and mountains for the refuge of travellers who may be unexpectedly overtaken by a storm, especially in winter when the snow is fiercely driven across the moors. To cross in the blinding storm is to invite death. This one is a small stone structure. During our following summer we found several of these and in one of them we were glad to take refuge.

This is the Mossfellsheiði, Moss-Mountain-Heath, the undisturbed home of the whimbrel and the golden plover. Before the road was built to Thingvellir there were a few scattering cairns to guide the traveller. There are at present many lofty cairns beside the way so that even in the drifting snow the traveller may find his way in winter. In the nearer view there is nothing but the barren land, the gray monotony of the moor and the eye of the traveller is held by the glories of the distant mountains.

The change of ponies was no doubt beneficial to those we had ridden in the morning and they trotted ahead with every sign of contentment, however, it brought no relief to the novices in the saddle. We were too weary to put the fresh mounts to a gallop and the jog, jog, jog on the hard road with the resulting thump, thump, thump on the saddle slightly damped the ardor of the first portion of the ride. We had just read Hall Caine’s Bondman and named our first relay of steeds after the two chief characters in that volume, Michael Sunlocks and Greba. My hestr, Michael Sunlocks, was a light chestnut with heavy forelocks, mane and tail of a beautiful silvery whiteness, the forelocks would have blinded him had they not been carefully fastened to the bridle, the mane reached to his knees and his heavy tail swept the ground. He was plump and mettlesome. To describe an Icelandic hestr, saddle horse, as fat is not describing him at all. I have never seen one in poor condition. Greba was a deep bay mare of gentle spirit. They proved to be personifications of those two characters in the Bondman. What did it matter to us if Johannes called them by unpronounceable names? To us they were ever Michael and Greba, and they came to know their new names. Now it happens that the Bondman is founded upon the attempt of a renegade Dane, Jorgen Jorgensen by name, to produce a revolution in Iceland in 1809. Here then was an appropriate name for my second mount and Jog Jogensen he was christened. He was a fiery little beast with plenty of grit as I found out after I had really learned to ride a hestr.

A charming landscape burst suddenly into view. The largest of Icelandic lakes, Thingvallavatn, is spread like a mirror below the bluffs. Its forty square miles of water are enclosed with scenic, basaltic headlands, its surface broken only by two islands, small and extinct craters. We saw it at its best. Long bands of pearly cloud lay athwart the mountain range while cloud and mountain cone lived doubly in the emerald green. Our weary spirits rose the more we advanced, most of the monotonous moorland stretched in gray billows behind us, and the discomfort of the saddle was momentarily forgotten. When it seemed that we were going directly to the shore of the lake the road took a sharp bend to the left and we descended a gulley to a big brook. We scorned the iron bridge and turned the ponies into the stream to quench their thirst. The water being low, we forded.

At six P. M. we turned from the highway into the turf-walled lane leading up to the farm called Kárastaðir, literally, the-farm-of-sickness. Why it was thus named is evident in the name but that was many centuries since. It must be remembered that the names of the farms and all the place-names are the same to-day as they were christened a thousand or more years ago. Every place in Iceland was most appropriately named.

Kárastaðir is a pleasant farm located besides a noisy brook on the upland slope of the lakeshore. It is approached between parallel walls of turf. These turf walls also enclose the tún, the mowing land, or the home field. They are made of turf cut in long thick strips and placed in layers. The walls are about three feet thick on the ground and narrow to half that width at the top. Grass grows luxuriantly all over them and they are often ornamented with a free sprinkling of wild flowers. I know of no hedgerow in England or country lane in America half so beautiful as many of these approaches to an Icelandic farm house. Hedge clippers, boards and concrete do not make for true beauty. These walls become a portion of the ground, permanent affairs that do not need attention and stand for centuries. The Icelandic farmer can show the New England Yankee how to build a fence, but then he has the material in the toughest of turf. A fence in New England built of native sods would not endure as long as the frail brush fences of our hillside pastures. At the far end of the lane stands the hús. This term refers not only to the actual dwelling but to all the buildings within the enclosure whether for man or beast. This turf wall runs around the buildings so as to make an inner plot where no entrance to the mowing lands can be obtained by the live stock.

On dismounting we were cordially received. Our ponies were unladen and taken to the pasture by a boy. The house maids,—a proper distinction for there are house-maids and farm-maids with corresponding duties,—busied themselves in preparing the guest room and the tiny bedroom leading out of it for our accommodation. In a short time the table was spread with rye bread, unsalted butter, cheese, broiled char, a species of trout from the lake, warm milk and boiled eggs. To this repast we did ample justice. Then followed a pot of excellent coffee and a platter laden with a variety of dainty cakes. This is one of the better class of Icelandic farms. We were still on the great highway of Iceland and under the influence of the capital city. The house had wood floors, Norway spruce, polished and aged to a beautiful seal-brown and spotlessly clean. We took our packing boxes into our bedroom as was our custom until we became better acquainted with the character of the people. The bedroom was eleven feet by five. In it was a small table, washstand, three chairs, four packing cases and two beds. When the heavy riding boots were removed there was not much room left in which to turn. The outer room contained a small dining table, an organ, several chairs and many ornaments of local interest in the shape of pictures. Every Icelandic home, no matter how humble, has its photograph album, long since filled and the overflow is spread upon the wall.

Supper over, I visited the out-buildings, which are entirely of stone and turf, except the roof contains timber to give the necessary support for the brush and turf. Near the coast and in the north this timber is obtained from the Arctic driftwood and I have seen many a stick of Siberian larch that has undoubtedly drifted over the polar area and lodged upon this coast. Thus does nature provide an abundance of building material in a land where no timber grows. I examined the haying implements with considerable interest and then followed the brook up the hillside in quest of flowers. Reclining upon a bed of the “mountain bloom” I looked down upon the farm, across the tún to the lake and beyond to the ragged peaks. The smoke rose from the peat fire in the kitchen, bringing with it the pleasing odor of burning humus, the farm maids were busy with the milking and the men were swinging their scythes in the meadow, albeit it was half past nine at night. This then is Iceland, the land of my boyhood dreams. These are the home-dwellers, who are not city-struck nor crazed with the lust of gold. These are the people of sturdy ways and simple lives whom I am to know in the years to come.